


Bones

by Yoshichao



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Angst, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoshichao/pseuds/Yoshichao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She couldn't concentrate. She hadn't been able to concentrate for what felt like hours. Logically, Kyouko blamed the disturbance in the room - the thing that was new to its surroundings and felt horribly out of place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bones

**Author's Note:**

> There's a mention of alternate realities in this because I wrote it with RPing muses in mind yeah so

A stern stare down onto her desk; it was _important_ , and Kyouko knew that all too well. This stupid report was taking up a disgustingly long amount of her time; sometimes Kyouko wondered why she was even bothering - it's not like she wrote reports for many other cases.

But that's because they were short and _boring_.

The only exception was the Hope's Peak case she and her classmates had been unfortunately involved in. But that one hurt for several different reasons - writing an unbiased report would probably make her go mad. The young detective had snagged dozens of documents from the school and made dozens more with little scribbles of notes, and that is what made up the reasonably thick file at the back of her shelf - often titled something to the effect of " _Hope's Peak and the Life of Mutual Killing_ " but sometimes when Kyouko was in a bad mood, she would put little sticky notes on the file with crude, distressed titles such as " _the time all my closest friends died_ " and " _my life is nothing but despair_ " or " _my dad is an idiot for allowing this to happen to us_ ".

Speaking of.

She couldn't concentrate. She hadn't been able to concentrate for what felt like hours. Logically, Kyouko blamed the disturbance in the room - the _thing_ that was new to its surroundings and felt horribly out of place.

She wanted to throw her pen across the room in fury, but instead she harshly dropped it on the desk and swiveled around in her chair to stare down this _stupid_ distraction.

_That man_ , or at least the bones of _that man_ (most of them at least - Kyouko wondered if Enoshima purposefully left out a few shards in the name of despair, or maybe she's just _shit_ at collecting bones from a human) stood tall and proud a few feet away from her desk. Any casual on-looker would probably assume it's one of those displays used in science rooms, which was probably beneficial to her reputation and friendships, she had to admit.

But no, the colourful box under her bed was empty (she kept it with the excuse that maybe she would get tired of seeing her father's infuriatingly disappointing figure everyday) and he was _right there_. And his presence was _distracting_. The teenage detective set it up so she could walk by it and look at it in shame, or maybe yell at it if she was in a particularly awful mood. It wasn't even facing her way, but she swore it was staring at her. Even though it had no eyes. Only empty sockets.

The violet-tinted-haired girl sighed and turned to face her desk again. There was no reason for it to be distracting - she was just imagining things. There was no reason she couldn't get this report done within the next hour, unless a case popped up—

She slammed the pen down and stood up with all the determination and grace in the world. It— _he_ had to be looking at her. She didn't get this feeling for no reason - Kyouko Kirigiri _knew_ when she was being stared at.

After a moment of glaring, she wanted to laugh. It was like some sort of night terror - a child's fear of monsters hiding in the night… Kyouko found herself recalling a time from long ago, of times where the life of a detective was still a new and exciting world to join, where she joined her family to some particularly nasty cases with psychotic culprits. Instead of monsters, she had fears of murderers hiding in her closet or under her bed… Little Kyouko would have her father - who didn't take the situation seriously enough because _it was plausible there could have been someone there to catch him off-guard_ \- check all the little dark places before bedtime on these particular nights. And sometimes that wouldn't satisfy her fears and she'd run to his or another's room to sleep in anyways.

It's ironic that the person previously quelling those fears was bringing up new ones.

Kyouko scrunched up her face. No, that wasn't right. She wasn't _scared_ of her father. That's _stupid_. He's _dead_. He was an _asshole_ for dying before she could talk to him again.

Wait, no, that wasn't right either. He was the headmaster of Hope's Peak Academy. Surely they had interacted during her first year at the school - of course they did; there were the interviews, after all… Did she express her feelings? Did she remove him from her life like she always wanted? It was painful, being unable to remember something that _might not even be there_. Her surviving classmates had taken a final look around the school with her, but they found nothing that could revive their stolen memories.

Something was nagging her detective mind - what if she held no hatred for her father in the first place? What if Enoshima just placed those instincts and memories there— no, that was stupid. She… didn't work like that. This was the girl who left hints to cause her demise and executed herself just to achieve maximum despair. If the thought wasn't previously in Kyouko's head… then her despair was meaningless, wasn't it? So it was real. Probably.

But this conclusion still didn't change the fact that the amnesiac girl had no idea if she said what she wanted to. She wondered, did they get on good terms? Did she— did her past self _forgive_ him after they spoke? She couldn't imagine that. Being anything beyond acquaintances with that man— _this man_ , the one standing in front of her - was absolute nonsense in her mind. It was illogical.

Maybe she could find one of those alternate timeline Jin Kirigiris. Test it out - see where it goes. But would the conversation be tainted? Tainted with the suspicion that it didn't go as planned the first time, and she wanted to make it just how she wanted it now? And an alternate… try as she may, it wouldn't be her own father. Because… her's was dead. The bones in front of her were proof of that.

…So the best thing to do was probably to just say it to the man himself. Maybe some words will be repeated… but that's alright.

"I hate you…" Kyouko mumbled with her eyes cast downwards. A strong start, but no build up. Not good - what was the speech she practiced in her head a million times over?

"All these years your pathetic action has haunted me." She looked up to stare at the skull and into the empty sockets. She could see his stressed face, perhaps he would try pleading for forgiveness or understanding but—

"You were a shoddy detective, but you did nothing to improve or find your own way to work it into your life… You didn't want such a life - and I'm glad you didn't take me with you, so then I could grow up and become… one of the best detectives this world has ever seen. I mean, you admitted it yourself - that's why you enrolled me, right?"

If her enrollment had anything to do with them being blood-related, she would have probably snapped his neck. If he wasn't dead already. Hell, if she could somehow figure it out, she might _still_ break his stupid bones into little pieces.

"You were a terrible father, and I'm almost— I'm ashamed to be related to _you_ , of all people." Yes, that's certainly what the family photos said. The pictures she'd snagged from his office. The pictures that had he and her and various other family members in them. The pictures she shoved in the back corner of her drawers - overturned so she couldn't accidentally see them. The one framed picture of a young smiling Kyouko with her father - the one that sat on top of her desk, the one that often was facing the wall and if it wasn't, it was face-down on the desk. Those photos.

"I hate what you've done to our— _my_ family. You've brought shame to our detective name—" She was speaking so slowly, but it felt like the words were just racing out. Why didn't she just stay seated and continue writing that report? Wasn't that why she wrote it? So if any keen people came asking, she didn't have to open her mouth and let a stream of emotion come out? So people could get their facts and then leave her be? She almost wished someone could do that. As far as she knew, there wasn't a single person in the world who came to the same conclusion - who found the culprit, and then confronted them, and… aside from the victims, she might have been the only one who _knew_. It was stressful. Everything felt so heavy and stressful, and her father was just _staring_ at her - perhaps lovingly, or maybe mockingly, and there was no damn way she would ever find out. Not all the intellect in the world could identify what emotions were in those empty sockets.

"I want to break off all ties with you… You and I have no bonds to keep us together… the two of us aren't family anymore… I hate you…"

Kyouko wished the dead really could speak. Because her father had absolutely no reaction to her heartfelt words - to her contained sobs as she let herself hunch over into a ball of resentment and anger.

He truly was the worst father in the world.


End file.
